


Your Hand in Mine

by radiolanguid



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M, POV John Watson, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiolanguid/pseuds/radiolanguid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage John tells his mother that he and teenage Sherlock are dating. John wants to hold Sherlock's hand but isn't sure how he'll react.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Hand in Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own John or Sherlock. Not my characters!   
> Give "Your Hand in Mine" by Explosions in the Sky a listen for enhanced experience. (I don't own that either.) 
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes.

You lean back against the green bench and, feeling the firm back press reassuringly into your spine, slowly inhale the crisp evening air. Glancing over at your companion, you exhale and try to relax your tense shoulders. Your eyes halt when they reach his face. You observe him; you take note of the gentle slope of his nose, the muscles in his neck that twinge when he moves his head, the way he leans forward as he draws in a steady breath. 

He's aware of your gaze. He turns to face you. His eyes now roam over you as yours did him, though you know he's gathering more than you did. He knows what you ate for lunch by the cuff on your rolled-up shirt sleeve. He knows you've neglected your homework by the way you've tied your shoelaces. He also knows the subject of the argument you had with your mother before slamming the front door and phoning him, requesting that the two of you meet at the park, but that's because you discussed it last time you saw each other. 

His eyes meet yours. You open your mouth to speak, but he shakes his head-- barely, almost imperceptibly. You guess that's for the better, as you aren't sure what you planned to say anyway. 

The two of you sit there, watching. The two of you sit there, breathing. The two of you sit there, knowing. 

You knew that this was going to be difficult when you began. You knew that people at school would insult you when you walked side by side through the halls. You knew that you'd have to tell your families eventually. But you didn't know how much it would all hurt. 

For all the bad, though, there's infinitely more good. When you're with him, everything feels right. The earth orbits the sun, the moon orbits the earth, and you orbit each other. 

Sitting next to him, a thought crosses your mind. You would feel so much calmer, less upset, more right, if you did it. You try. All that happens is a twitch of your index finger. Your palms moisten. 

It shouldn't be a big deal. After all, isn't this one of the first markers ordinary people hit along the road? But you aren't ordinary, and he definitely isn't; he's extraordinary. 

It's not like he hates physical contact-- he doesn't. It's never been an issue when you kiss, when you're both consumed by passion. 

But this is different. This will be an act of compassion on his part, if he doesn't object. If he doesn't look at you with disdain darkening his luminous eyes. If he doesn't despise your obvious display of weakness, of sentiment. If you ever do it. 

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. You slowly reposition your hand, so it now rests between you and him. It lies palm up, an open invitation. His eyes flick down, lingering. He brings hid gaze back to yours. Your stomach rolls nervously. Anticipating his objection, you swallow and ready yourself to withdraw your hand. 

But you don't have to. He looks down and carefully places his hand on yours, locking your fingers in his. He shifts on the bench, inching closer so you can lean against his shoulder. You settle in, and so does he. You are surprised and overwhelmed by a sense of relief mingled with affection. 

"Sherlock," you say, "this feels right. Your hand in mine."


End file.
